


Angst War - Simmons in a Closet

by PGT



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: Spoilers for RVB ep 10. Simmons has a hard time with closets.





	Angst War - Simmons in a Closet

They were separated from everyone else. Temple, and thereby Tucker had insisted that the Reds and Blues and Blues and Reds pair up, get to know each other. Simmons had dreaded any form of conversation with Gene, annoying and talkative as he was, but Tucker reasoned it couldn’t be bad to know your allies.  
Tucker was never their strategist. Because of this stupid idea Simmons had unwittingly been shoved into a closet. He should’ve noticed Gene move to strike, but the way he emoted as he rambled on and on and on, Simmons could barely keep focus.  
“Gene?! What the hell--” he grunted in discomfort as his muscles pushed futilely against the armor plates. It registered. Armor Lock. “What are you doing?”  
Gene laughed. A laugh that made the hairs on Simmons neck rise, a shiver crawl down his spine. It had been months, but a laugh like Felix’s was hard to forget. Gene wasn’t Felix, of course, but they had the same aura of danger.  
“It’s almost boring how simple you guys are. Temple said it’d be an easy gig but damn.”  
“God damn it! What’s going on!?” Simmons winced as he identified his voice pitching.  
“You’re dying, Richard. And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. Put it together yourself, genius.”  
He knew it would be fruitless to try, but he pushed against his armor lock regardless. At his effort Gene’s smile broadened. “Who are you?”  
“Why, my story’s not interesting. It’s Temple’s to tell, not that you’ll live to hear it, of course...” Gene stalked closer to the closet, planting one hand on the lockpad beside it.  
“Having to act like you for months, I’ve learned something, Simmons. No one could ever like you.”  
A beep sounded from the lockpad, and the mechanical door to the closet whirred closed.  
Simmons’ senses were suddenly very acute. His heart throbbed against his ribcage, his panting breath grew warm in his helmet, the fading footsteps were a clapping thunderstorm in his ears.  
Worst of all, he knew the armor lock wasn’t why he was so distressed. Armor lock meant Caboose was safe, Tucker would catch on before Buckey got him, Sarge would too. He wasn’t worried about his friends.  
It was the closet.  
Simmons wasn’t claustrophobic, but ever since the damn Temple of Procreation, closets got to him. He got flustered, and his heart rate would rise. The memory of being pressed against Grif as the tower had activated, and of course...  
The memory of what happened directly after.

_“This never happened.”_   
_“What?” Simmons was still riding the high, still flush to Grif, using his chest to hold himself upright._   
_He felt Grif push away. “This. This never happened. We promise not to talk about this, okay?”_   
_“What do you--”_   
_Grif’s voice rose, frantic. “We didn’t fuck, Simmons! Do you got that? We aren’t like that, right Simmons?”_   
_They locked eyes, and the seriousness in Grif’s eyes melted any pleasure Simmons had been riding. His reply was sheepish. “Was it bad?”_   
_“No, it was-- I’m not- we’re not going to be a thing. Ever.”_

Simmons hadn’t responded beyond a numb nod, and the eternal wait for someone to find them locked in there was worse than anything Locus or Felix could’ve done. He never asked why Grif had been so adamant about it, Assumed it was fine. Grif didn’t swing that way, sure. The Temple did crazy things, Simmons didn’t doubt it’s ability to override sexuality. He’d moved on, and they got back to normal after a few awkward weeks.  
Closets still made him remember, though. It was hard to forget when closets weren’t too affiliated with any other memories than that day.  
Gene’s words echoed. “No one could ever like you.”  
Maybe he was right. Grif had been through everything with Simmons. If they couldn’t have sex in a closet under the influence of a planet wide aphrodisiac without getting weird about it… who could?  
No one, right? There was no one on Chorus, on Earth, on the moon anywhere that knew him like Grif did. How could anyone like him if Grif couldn’t? He’d die alone. Not because he was trapped in a closet trapped in his armor and currently single, but because he was unloveable.  
If Grif had been there, He would’ve reasoned with Simmons. Proved him wrong, maybe. But he wasn’t there. Grif was gone, and Simmons was left to believe his own corrupt, deprecating self.


End file.
